yuletide suicides
by shannaros
Summary: they live their lives according to Bonnie 'n Clyde.- NnoiNel [ON HIATUS]
1. decorum

**title: decorum **

**disclaimer: disclaimed**

**n1: this is a fiction up for vote on my poll. just a teaser on what I managed to get out before break hits. i felt as though this would kinda go towards the season.**

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**_yuletide suicides_**

_-_you know. some cultures actually revere insanity.

just not this one.

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The asylum is never quiet. During the day it rattles with the sounds of rolling carts and bustling nurses. An occasional wind blew through causing baskets to tumble and papers to rustle, but without that- the asylum was just _busy. _ Chattering of visitors, cheerful tones of doctors and sarcastic and bitter nurses that dash their bright tones with a dash of a sickly honey.

It'll kill you if you don't focus.

Cars purr from outside, doors swing forth and slam shut, dropping of pills cause soft clanking in the back rooms. But of course not a soul from the outside sees that far ahead. No one even bothers to look.

Feet thud on the floor and that clock-that damned clock ticks. The seconds edge away, the seconds into minutes, the minutes into hours-_damn it! Stop with the damn ticking! _And with the hours slipping by, so does the sunlight. And so does the day.

Yellow turns into red _bloodbloodblood give it to me. _The red turns into orange _the sweetcolors of arson. _And before the hour is done, the orange has faded away, giving away into utter darkness.

Ticking's bruised the sky.

_and so the hands slide by going tick tik tic._

The asylum is never quiet. Day is gone, night has replaced it, but _it can be heard now. _Each creak of the floorboards, every squeak the dry metallic beds make as its occupant turns in them. Midnight howls. Clanking occurs. Forget the rackling sound of dinner carts wheeling over the linoleum, that sound of metal on the floor is a razor-knife-leaded pencil hitting the floor with a pool of crimson leaking out to follow it.

Call it silence.

Please.

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His walls are sheer white. Spotless, stainless, not a hint of the color he so craved over them. The walls were empty, blanker than a sheet of notebook paper. Blank.

He licked his lips.

_Was it time for him to take some notes?_

Shadows flickered across the room, the lone window allowing the etchings of tree branches and buildings, of birds and flowers and seeds and cars, with grass sky and ohgod- freedom.

The freedom flickered across his barren walls. It shifted and shuttered- just like he did, and it made him want to claw his way out of here. He wanted his blood to pool into the window pane as his nails were scraped to the bone in his attempts. And if the blood pooled around him and he couldn't escape?

No matter, he'd just paint and paint his white walls red.

They needed the color after all.

[don't ask why he's here.]


	2. anomaly

**title:anomaly **

**disclaimer: disclaimed**

**n1: variables.**

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**_yuletide suicides_**

-insanity knocks once, twice, three times.

seven, eight, nine, eleven.

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He rolled onto the bed, his long black hair falling into his face and his pillow pressed against his ears. Pounding came from the walls aside him-_damn Yammy, sit the hell down why dontch'a?- _as well as the low moans that came with the sound of self-mutilation. _'eh, blue boy must love the knife I got 'em. Go die why don't you._

If only the world was so simple.

A long tongue lolled out of the corner of his mouth revealing the black ink that tainted and marred the otherwise baby pure flesh. Eye(s) darted around at the walls aimlessly- _left right, right left, left right, up right, down left._

His body jerked upwards and the strands of his dark hair fell to his pale skin with the motion, showing contrast between the darkness and the light.

_Fuck, he hated white._

Something was wrong with-in-near the asylum.

He could feel it.

Two hands came together and clasped around one another, the hairs on his head falling into his eye(s) while his ears searched for the anomaly in question.

[No, don't search for Loly. She's not to die just yet.]

The whimpers still came from the room directly beside the room without freedom, the freedom still danced in a world so close, but so far from him- its whimsical idea directly out of his reach- but still, something in the asylum did not belong.

It wasn't in here.

Not inside of there.

He'd have to go outside of the four walls.

The blur of paint obscured his vision and his mind registered his action, his hand was gripped around the handle of the door and was in the process of flinging the door and his body away from the white walls, nearing the door breaking point. The sight of his black socks padding on the linoleum floor was the only way he knew he was running.

Oh, he was _running._

The nighttime air of the a/c blew through his hair, wishing it was the real thing, but ah-ah-ah

Beggars can't be choosers.

He heard the howls- the clanking- the rackling of carts. The dispensing of pills and of syringes and the popping of veins had already ceased for the night and his eye(s) burned with the desire to take it all from the members of society. Take it all away from them and make it his.

That is what Nnoitra Gilga wanted.

To make everything his.


	3. normalcy

**title:normalcy**

**disclaimer:disclaimed**

**n1:pairing might be coin tossed now.**

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**yuletide suicides**

-varying variances make for a vulgar viscosity.

nonsense.

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She sat in the cold metal chairs in the small white room with her hands folded across her lap. Her fingers interlaced with one another;her ankles crossed and rocked her feet back and forth, forth and back. The white pushed in on her, the four squares folding and dropping onto her form.

So much chill; so very white.

That was her normalcy.

Brought here in the white truck, with cold doors, empty men that breathed the frozen air and the closing in streets with it's closing in landscape, her brain classified the cold, the white and the claustro as what was normal for her.

Lived before in a untainted white room, with cold waters and empty dreams that took her four closing in walls and froze her between them-forever, ever and ever.

That was her normalcy.

And damn, was it _normal_.

She sat in the cold metal chairs in the shrinking white room with her hands laced in her lap. Each one of her red nails dug into a knuckle- a knuckle closest to it- and let the goosebumps rise from her skin.

It was so very white here;so very white, so white and so pure. So innocent, untainted and so _cold, cold cold._

If he was here..he would be pissed.

Two bright red lips curled into a big, big grin. There was no if he was here,there was only where he was he was here-he was here, she knew he was here, that's why she was here.

[she did _need _to be here. she wasn't as sane as she ought to have been.]

Her eyes looked left, once, twice, three times

and she stopped and stared at the doorway ahead of her.

She could hear something down the way, some pricking, some pattering of the fast paced feet that wanted to get free of here. Her grin spread wider and with that she stood, flatting the hems of her white collared outfit [which _again, _she knew he would hate-but maybe not, since it was on her and oh, didn't he love her?] and laced her red fingers in front of her white skirt and trained her eyes on the door._  
_

It opened.

He was here! He was finally here!

_"Good evening Gilga-kun. Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"_


	4. minted

**title:minted**

**disclaimer:disclaimed**

**n1:this chapter is much longer than all the others. my apologies. I tried to keep them all concise, but this was kinda a must.**

**n2: pairing finalized as NnoiNel. **

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**_yuletide suicides_**

-you bleed too much, all your blood goes 'bye-bye'

and then you'll go prune.

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That voice.

That damn voice he'd said he'd snap if he'd ever heard it again.

_"Good evening Gilga-kun. Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"_

His eye(s) narrowed down and his feet stopped their fast paced quest for freedom as they slowed, the soles padding along on the ground as he walked through the door. His freedom could wait just for another moment; he'd found what he was looking for in this room.

Nnoitra could smell it.

The anomaly was right in front of his face, dripping with whites and reds while green peeked out from their behind. It looked like a sickly sweet peppermint and it smelled like one too- all simple and clean and so covered in white.

He just wanted to rip the red of her lips off her pretty white little face and paint the woman red (just like he wanted to paint his walls). The clacking of her heels against the floor- the clacking that replaced the rattling that echoed throughout the place during the light.

But it was dark now, and it was her and her white heels that clacked on the center of the floor. And it was her and her peppermint hair that were about to drag him away from his freedom again. And it was her and her red lips that were going to drug him and hug him.

After all, his Nelliel was famous for pretending to be someone she wasn't.

[Because sane Nelliel was completely different from insane Nelliel]

As she moved towards her light (him), he moved towards the anomaly that was blocking his freedom (light) and she placed her crimson nails to his moving, ignoring the tongue that moved to flick out and rove the red enamel.

"Get yer filthy hands off," Nnoitra spat out, licking at the red (he really couldn't help that-it was just a habit, a bit of instinct). "I 'on't need some Snow White whore comin' in here and messin' with me."

Nel's laugh was far to high pitched to be considered a giggle or a laugh.

"Nnoitra-kun...haven't you missed your dear Nelli-chan?" Those red nails of hers continued to skate around his lips, dancing and playing around them as she pressed into him- and she wanted to press into him _so badly- _while he just stood there, looking down at the [his] peppermint swirl girl with all the sexual desire of a rock. "Nnoitra-kun. Haven't. You. Missed. Your. Nelli-chan?!"

He felt her fingers slip away from his lips and begin moving down to his shoulders and grip his arms. Nel's grip became desperate, her nails digging into his clothing and his skin and her ten daggers nicked his skin, leaving ten pricks of his beloved red on his skin.

It felt nice.

That pained desperation of hers, those shrill shrieks she was giving off-because who cared if anyone knew he was out and about?- that was the music to his ears. It was like red had gained a sound and was on frequent loop in the sky.

It sounded fantastic.

He let her shake him back and forth, because in all honesty, there was more than enough time for him to kill her, and he let her just scream her pretty little peppermint head off.

At least, he'd planned too until those damn doctors came and shut her up with that needle of theirs. And Nelliel had fainted and they'd taken her off too another room down the way because she wasn't really a nurse, but she was just Nelliel and Nelliel liked to pretend that she was people she really wasn't.

And he just waited there, looking at the windows, looking as the ticking of the clock continued, watching as the night just got darker and darker, and watching as freedom slipped further and further away.

His freedom was gone and now all that was left was white.

Nnoitra's tongue flicked out again and his eye(s) turned to the small nurse left beside him. Maybe he'd rip away her white let her red spill and then he'd rub it over all the walls-the floor-the clocks-and yes, yes, Nelliel. He'd coat the woman in red along with everything else. He'd paint the town red.

That nurse was going to be his ink and this place-this pit for his genius- was going to be his paper and he'd note and paint it all as his.

He glanced down again to see that nurse [that nurse, her name, her name? what was her name?] looking right back at him, her face pale with apprehension. Maybe she knew what he wanted and was going to do with her, maybe not, but it didn't matter since, Nnoitra wasn't going to be stopped by someone like her.

She began to lead him back to the confines of his four white walls and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep him from biting her neck out right then and there. But he couldn't now, so he wouldn't. He'd be a good little boy until someone's back was turn and then he'd yank their spine out and strangle them with it.

But for now, he'd sleep-in his four white walls. Alone and still chasing his freedom. And he'd forget about the [his] peppermint swirl because his freedom didn't need her. Not then, not now and not ever.

The door creaked as it opened, the high pitched noise sounded a bit like Nelliel's screams from before and he ducked under the frame and stepped into the white, glancing around and laying on his bed before noticing a streak of peppermint in the bunk opposite him, curled up and drugged up.

Nelliel.

Here.

Nnoitra licked his lips as the door shut behind them.

If the nurse was gone, then why not use the [his] peppermint swirl girl to practice.


	5. displacement

**title:displacement**

**disclaimer:disclaimed**

**n1: sorry for the long term hiatus on this fiction. now, time to move onto cats in your house.**

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**_yuletide suicides_**

-and the sun fell on me

and it never rose up.

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You didn't have to be a druggie to like being drugged up.

At least, Nel didn't have to be a druggie to like being stabbed in her veins or to relish that sense of the dope to come and cloud her vision and send her head down into the floor.

Because when Nel was drugged, she always woke up to her Nnoitra. Every-single- time.

So, Nelliel didn't mind.

Not one. tiny. bit.

The low hanging clouds of opiates curtained her consciousness were damp and soggy, the mist covering her eyes before the curtains dropped on her.

It was time for intermission.

And soon the orchestra began to play, the violins screaming of screams, and the trumpets' biting howls of pain. Drums beat in from the background and all Nelliel could feel and focus on was the rising of that drug induced curtains.

They rose up and her eyes could only blink at the hazy figure above her and as they did, the stage was set and the show was ready to begin. She'd felt it start with the dug in nails of her Nnoitra, the slipping out of pained moans and liquid blood that spilled onto the white tiles that he hated so much. Her breath caught in her throat as the drugs continued working it's way through her system, as his fingers continued to press into her body and they pushed and pulled together.

Pulling out the sanity and pushing themselves into it's place.

Nelliel's screams were what followed.

It all burned her; the opiates, the needle pricks and all of Nnoitra's loving, it all burned her wonderfully white curtains. And those red flames didn't stop there, no.

They spread and soon the dripping red flames entered Nel's mind turning everything she knew into ashes. Her body began to snap on the outside, her eyes going wide and rolling out of focus and she screamed loudly- loudly enough and for the final time- before it all went to white-white-and breathing heavily.

The drugs flushed out, Nnoitra left her and her sanity was finally set free.


	6. interlude: clown

**title: interlude 1- clown**

**disclaimer:disclaimed**

**note: interludes will happen periodically.**

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**_yuletide suicides_**

-1 bit away from

incomplete.

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His feet crossed in front of him, the heels of his feet digging into the bones of another. Sets of teeth, poked out in a rows, smirked at the thin woman in front of him, his hands moving to squeeze what bit of life was in her.

It wasn't cruelty; she didn't want it-so he'd take it.

Her breath caught in her mouth, his eyes lighting up and he snatched that white away from her lips, smiling as that red replaced it, pooling down from corner to corner and he tossed her aside-

she was just a clown bitch now.

Nnoitra's smile just grew and grew, the bitch flipped and flopped like a damn fish out of water- or a once-a-upon-human with no air.

It wasn't his peppermint. no she was asleep on the bed across the room, but it was a girl all the same.

In his hands danced more pills and while he swallowed- she was dying- and as she was dying,

he was laughing.


End file.
